


Droit du Seigneur

by LiliannaBelle (Tam)



Series: Rumbelle Dark Castle Between the Scenes [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam/pseuds/LiliannaBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story that slots in shortly after Rumple and Belle return from hunting Robin Hood.  No spoilers beyond season two OUaT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for non-con/dub-con themes, but nothing explicit.

There was a flurry of activity and a rapping at the outer doors of the Dark Castle.

“Oh yes,” cooed Rumpelstiltskin, twirling his hands in glee. Belle set down the trinkets she had been dusting and glared at him sideways. She knew him too well—he was only pretending to have forgotten whomever or whatever this is, and that only served to further pique her curiosity.

“That’s right. The serfs—the Parishter family, if I am not mistaken—the wedding is today.”

“A wedding?!” Belle dropped her feather duster (she had a feeling she was only moving the dust around anyway) and gathered her skirts, running to join him as he walked to the door. “Are we going? Why didn’t you tell me?” Unable to keep the hope out of her voice, she hurriedly tried to dust off her dress and finger comb her tousled curls. As much as she had grown to love the quiet peace between them in the castle, or the lazy afternoons he allowed her to roam his beautiful gardens now the weather was getting warmer, Belle longed to go further, to see her master’s lands, to accompany him on one of his trips perhaps.

Rumpelstiltskin paused in the doorway, bringing her up short before she almost ran into him. He steepled his fingers and cocked his head, uttering an airy giggle as he made both her and the party at the door wait on his pleasure.

“Oh no, I’m afraid we won't be invited to the nuptials, my dear. We wouldn’t exactly be welcome there anyway, would we?”

“But…but they’re your lands…your people.” She couldn’t conceal the wretched disappointment in her voice.

“And you were hoping to escape the Dark Castle, even for an afternoon? Hmm?” He spoke lightly, as if it was no matter, but Belle could sense the sudden tension between them. He lifted an eyebrow, his gaze challenging her. 

Belle cast her eyes down, biting her lip. It was true, she wanted to leave; she had made no secret of how much he missed her home, or of her desire to see the world. However, she didn’t know if it was more dangerous to have him believe she was eager to get away…or risk revealing that while her heart yearned for adventure beyond the pages of her books, she didn’t want to leave _him_. 

He curled an unexpectedly gentle finger under her chin, raising her face to his. Ever since they had returned from Sherwood Forest he had been risking occasional touches like this, as if she was too interesting a specimen not to examine more closely. He was always so careful, as if she was made from the finest fragile spun glass. Belle bit her lip harder to keep its tremulous quiver from giving her away, and met his eyes. 

He searched her face, confusion flitting across his expression momentarily, before he dropped his slight hold on her chin and stepped back, his features once again inscrutable. He straightened his leather waistcoat and lifted a hand in the direction of the entranceway. 

The great doors swung open. Rumpelstiltskin’s expression contorted into a mask of false cheer. He rubbed his hands together in glee when they were greeted by a little group of villagers, much more somber than Belle would have expected for a wedding party.

But they were very much a wedding party: in the center a fragile young bride stood clasping a small carpet bag in front of her with trembling hands. She looked to be few years younger than Belle herself and was clad from head to toe in white muslin. A thin layer of lace veiled her features, it was faded with age, fraying at the edges, but mended carefully, Belle noted. They were poor, but had pride. This girl was loved. Her ladies in waiting clustered around her like a human shield. A group of younger girls waited back by the gates, wildflowers woven in their hair, gripping each other as they watched from a distance. From the girls at the gates to the wedding party on the doorstep, fear rolled off them in waves. 

A groom shifted restlessly, unmistakable rage in his eyes, his friends with his hands on his arms as if to hold him back. He was a farmer, Belle guessed, his face youthful but his build strong. His muscled arms rippled through his thin linen shift.

A weeping mother sought succor in the arms of an older man whose expression revealed his identity: Belle saw in his reddened eyes the despair of her own father the day Rumpelstiltskin had led her away from him. 

The father of the bride wrung his hands. “G-goodday to you, sir.” He bowed low. 

Rumpelstiltskin did little more than tilt his head in acknowledgement.

They were respectably, if simply, dressed. Poor, but far from impoverished. Rumpelstiltskin had once told her that no one went hungry in his lands. Belle frowned, completely confused. Had something gone wrong at the wedding? 

She looked to her master, but Rumpelstiltskin looked as if this was all to be expected. Indeed, he looked completely unfazed. 

Belle’s eyes narrowed. “Why are they here?” she muttered. “Is it some kind of wedding tax?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He declined to elaborate. “Now hush, child, I have guests.”

 _Child?!_ Belle fumed.

Rumpelstiltskin’s grin widened as he cackled quietly, radiating calm confidence and sordid glee. She knew this look, he was perfectly happy to be intimidating these poor people, what was he up to? What could he possibly want with such miserable-looking serfs?

The gaggle of ladies hung back at the command of the bride’s father. Only he, the groom, and the mother accompanied the bride. She reluctantly detached herself from the other women and took her father’s hand as he led her over the threshold into the castle.

Now that she was closer, Belle could see the girl seemed even younger than she had first appeared. She was as white as a sheet, and shaking. 

“What’s the matter?” Belle exclaimed, unable to keep quiet any longer.

Rumpelstiltskin ignored Belle completely, and the villagers, after a furtive, curious glance at her, followed his lead. 

“Come in, come in!” he crowed. His good cheer only seemed to grow with the obvious discomfort of the villagers. The groom, his bride and her parents stepped over the threshold. An invisible barrier arose, forbidding any others from following.

Questions from the men, sobs and sighs from the women, and angry exclamations from the groomsmen all erupted in a tumult from the doorstep, once Rumpelstiltskin was no longer looking at them.

Rumpelstiltskin merely lifted a hand, and the door slammed heavily closed.

An uncomfortable silence fell as Rumpelstiltskin circled their four guests, nearing the bride until he stopped in front of her. She whimpered softly, looking like her legs were about to give out at any moment. 

Belle gasped as Rumpelstiltskin reached for the young woman. She leaned back against her father with a low moan of fear. Her groom tensed, his strong hands flexing as if he wanted to throttle the interloper, but he stayed in place.

Slowly, carefully, Rumpelstiltskin lifted the wedding veil until he had a clear view of the girl’s face.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, stepping back. “What’s your name, dearie?”

Belle’s stood frozen to the spot, a fluttering of fear in her stomach.

“Yahira,” she whispered.

“Have a seat, Yahira.” He ignored everyone but the girl.

He used magic to pull out a chair from the long table, seeming to enjoy the young bride’s startle at the screech of the chair legs on the stone floor. 

Belle opened her mouth to chastise him, but her master’s eyes flicked to hers, just briefly. She closed her mouth. 

Nonetheless, she held out her hand to Yahira when the young bride wobbled on her feet trying to obey Rumpelstiltskin’s command. Belle led her to the chair and helped her to sit. Ignoring Rumpelstiltskin’s amused smirk, she fetched another chair for the girl’s mother, placing it right beside the bride.

The woman looked to Rumpelstiltskin, taking a seat only when he nodded slightly. She reached out to her daughter and the two grasped shaky hands. The father moved around behind them and placed a supportive hand on his daughter’s shoulder. The groom paced up and down, his expression as black as thunder. Rumpelstiltskin watched him for a moment, tapping a blackened fingernail against his chin, before erupting with another high-pitched giggle that startled the group’s already frayed nerves.

“Mrs. Parishter, perhaps you would assist my maid in bringing us all some tea.”

Belle’s mouth fell open. For just a moment she had clean forgotten she was his _maid._ It had been many moons since he had treated her thus. Some days she did nothing but lounge in her library or wander in the gardens, and he never spoke a word of reproach as long as his basket of straw remained full and she brought him his tea.

Frowning, she gathered her skirts, a quick nod indicating she would obey—for now. Rumpelstiltskin had all manner of strange dealings with people and she had learned better than to interfere. Well, mostly. Before she left for the kitchens, Belle leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on Yahira’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, everything is going to be all right.”

Rumpelstiltskin snorted, causing the girl to jump again. She gazed up at Belle in surprise, and the faintest gleam of hope glowed in her face.

Rumpelstiltskin dismissed Belle with a flick of his hand. Taking Mrs. Parishter’s arm, Belle hurried off to the kitchens before Rumpelstiltskin could reprimand her. Her feet clattered noisily on the spiral staircase, and she hoped every loud echo would let Rumple know that while she may not yet have challenged him in front of these people, she was most displeased.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, people are reading! A couple even left kudos! Thank you!!  
> My apologies that this is still a work in progress, but most of it is written, I just felt I needed to put it up on here to give myself an incentive to finally finish one of the many WIPs I have on my computer!

Mrs. Parishter paced the kitchen while Belle set the kettle to boil and piled some sweetbreads onto a tray; Yahira and her mother looked too thin for Belle’s liking.

“You don’t think…oh, my lady, will my Yahira be all right? Should I go back up there?”

Belle’s heart went out to this distressed woman. She reached for her arm and led her to the chair by the fire. “She’ll be fine, we’ll be back up in a few minutes. Mrs. Parishter—”

“Oh, it’s just Roanne, ma’am.”

“And I’m just Belle. I’m no lady.” _Not any more, anyway._. Belle mustered a sympathetic smile, pleased when Roanne relaxed slightly in the chair. 

“Roanne, can I ask you…what is this about? Your daughter was married today?”

“No...Lord Rumpelstiltskin invokes his right before the vows are said, no one knows why. The ceremony will follow…her time here. If he gives his blessing, that is.”

“Invokes his rights..?” The sinking feeling in Belle’s stomach was starting to solidify into a deep sense of foreboding. She set cups onto saucers on the tea tray, trying to keep her hands from shaking and her thoughts from going to dark places. Only the cruelest rulers enacted the _Droit du Seigneur._ Surely he wouldn’t?

Roanne had started fiddling with her hands, gazing down at the table. Lost inside her own thoughts, she kept talking. “Most of the time, they just spend an hour or so, they have tea, he releases them. Unharmed. They say he simply talks to them. The wedding goes ahead. Their grooms confirm the next day that he didn’t...that they come to them…untouched. That’s what will happen for my Yahira?”

She turned tearful but hope-filled eyes to Belle.

Confused, Belle tried to focus on pouring milk into the jug. “I…I don’t know. Can you tell me more what you mean by he invokes his rights? What rights?”

“As our feudal lord. I ’spose…I know what people say, one can never really know what he does. But I don’t believe that…I can't. Would he let me wait? I don’t mind how long…I don’t want to leave her here alone, Miss Belle. She’s not been out in the world, such a good girl, helped me rear her little brothers and sisters—she’s my eldest, see. My husband and I, we got the most awful ’flu last autumn, laid up for weeks I was, it almost killed my husband. My Yahira, she ran the household but we would never have made it without the Withfords.”

Belle gazed at her blankly.

“The Withfords—the groom’s family—Jonas. He’s her intended.”

“Ah.”

“And Jonas…he brought our crops in when Yahira’s father could barely get out of bed. Reckon he wanted to prove to us he could provide for her. I know she looks young, but she’s of age—oh, could you tell ’im that, do you think, your master? Just…just I know he doesn’t usually yet the young ones go.”

Belle set the tea tray down before her nerveless fingers could drop the whole thing.

“What?”

“We’ve noticed, over the years, if a bride is especially young, he…he takes his rights. Sometimes we never see them again.” She choked on her words and tears ran freely down her cheeks now.

Belle sat down heavily in the chair beside Roanne and reached for the woman’s hand, as much as to comfort herself as anything.

“This is… _Rumpelstiltskin_ does this? He takes the brides?”

Roanne nodded gravely. “He keeps them, sometimes a night, sometimes longer…it’s been a long time since one disappeared completely though, because he made it so no one would risk trying to marry off a daughter too young. Can't get a bride price if there’s no bride come the wedding.” She laughed hollowly, no humor in it.

“He…he keeps them here?”

“Yes, m’lady. Some only come back home years later.”

There was a silence as Belle tried to process what she was hearing. She had known her master had had servant girls before her, and that some of them cried at first, distracting him from his work with their weeping, but that was all he had let slip. It was one of many topics he didn’t like her to press him about.

“These girls, when they come back, what tales do they tell of what he…does to them?” Her voice was tremulous, ice running in her veins. 

Roanne looked at Belle curiously. It dawned on Belle that the woman must wonder why Belle was so interested in the previous girls’ experience when surely she had firsthand knowledge of being taken away by Rumpelstiltskin herself. But excepting the first day, when he had tossed her unceremoniously in the dungeon, Rumple had been nothing but a perfect gentleman around her.

Both women jumped when the kettle whistled. Responding on autopilot, her legs rubbery, Belle got up to pour the tea into the teapot.

“They say they’ve just been waiting on him, well, like yourself I ’spose, ’cept, well, you’re a proper lady, Miss Belle, anyone can see that. But it’s too late for them, no one would marry them then.”

“They actually said he has his way with them?” Hearing her own voice so high it was almost reedy, Belle felt suddenly very young and naïve.

“Some deny it, others just refuse to discuss it. A common thread is they say they aren’t permitted to speak of their time here—the longer they are with the master, the more reluctant they are to even speak his name.”

Belle drew a deep breath. The tea was brewing, she should take it up, but she didn’t know if she could trust her own legs to carry her.

“So what happens, to those women?”

Roanne sniffed. “They’re different. He takes care of them—I’ll say that for him. Sets them up with a trade, they never want for anything. No one would dare speak against them, they live respectably.”

“And none ever take a husband?”

“Sometimes. If m’lord approves—he meets with any suitor beforehand of course. And sometimes he brings them suitors from other lands, if they want—none has ever been forced to marry. But they aren’t allowed contact with the grooms their fathers picked for them. Can create a lot of strife that—sometimes a family is relying on that bride price, Miss Belle, but he sends those girls back, their reputations ruined. It’s a wonder any go on to find husbands at all.”

 _There’s more to life than a husband,_ Belle wanted to say, but kept her own counsel on that matter.

“I could carry the tea things, if you like, milady?”

Belle started to protest that she could manage, but her legs still felt like jelly. The thought that Rumpelstiltskin— _her_ Rumpelstiltskin—could do something so horrifically cruel to young women had shaken her more than she cared to admit.

“I…that would be kind of you.” Belle nodded to the older woman. “And Roanne? I want you to know I will do everything I can to help Yahira.”

Roanne teared up again. “Oh thank you, my lady! I don’t know how to thank you.”

Belle swallowed. “I’m not even sure I can help yet,” she answered quietly, knowing it was true—Rumpelstiltskin could have his way, and there would be nothing she could do to stop him. But even if it meant she was consigned to the dungeons again, or worse, Belle would at least try.

~~~

When they returned upstairs, Belle and Roanne served tea in a façade of civility that was rife with tension. Jonas, the groom, still paced the great room in clipped, angry footfalls. The father of the bride tried valiantly to answer Rumpelstiltskin’s apparently casual questions about soil quality and cattle feed. Belle sensed Rumpelstiltskin had no real aim with his parley, and that if anything of substance had passed between the men, she and Roanne had missed it. 

Yahira wilted in her chair beside her mother, her knees pressed tightly together, her arms wrapped around herself protectively, and her eyes fixed on the floor. Belle’s heart went out to her and she was all the more determined to intervene—no matter what it took. The young bride’s white knuckled grip on the table reminded Belle of her own frantic grasp on the carriage window during that long ride away from her home, uncertain if at any moment she would be subject to the unwanted attentions of the strange man who sat across from her.

Finally there was a lull in the conversation. 

“Sir.” Belle stood with her back ramrod straight and eyeballed Rumpelstiltskin. Her master’s eyes widened, but he gave no other outward sign of the strangeness of Belle’s form of address.

She cast her eyes down as he approached her, his gait now catlike, stalking her. He stepped very close, but Belle held her ground. She folded her hands primly, hoping she looked every inch the docile maid she had never really managed to actually _be._

“Sir, if I may, I need to speak with you. Alone. It really is quite an urgent matter.”

Rumpelstiltskin tsked at her. Nonetheless, he gave a sweeping, somewhat mocking, bow to their company and then ushered her out of the room.

~~~

He didn’t speak until they were alone in the anteroom. Here they could still keep an eye on their guests, but not be overheard.

“And what, pray tell, was _that_ little performance about?” Rumpelstiltskin hissed close to her ear as he caught her by the elbow. 

She let him lead her into an alcove. As always on the rare occasions when he actually touched her, his hold was proprietary, but surprisingly gentle. Belle had long since ceased to be intimidated by it. Indeed, she had even been experimenting more and more with touches of her own. Belle was discovering her master was very amenable to her requests when her fingers found their way to curl over his forearm, or around his surprisingly strong bicep when she walked him around the gardens to show him a particularly beautiful flower. An exquisite antique piano appeared in the ballroom, fresh flowers in her chambers, violet honey for her tea, his company for a walk in the grounds when he looked particularly upset with something—

She breathed in and out, trying to remember _that_ Rumpelstiltskin. She lasted all of three seconds. “I cannot believe you would do this!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what, my dear?”

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, confirming for Belle that he knew exactly why she was so incensed.

“I didn’t even believe you _wanted_ …I mean, you didn’t, you never…seemed interested in…”

“In what?” He leaned back in the alcove, steepling his fingers, clearly enjoying her blush, her discomfort. “Do go on…”

Anger flared inside her…and something else too. As ridiculous as it was, faced with him now, seeing her master in a new light: a feudal overlord with the right to the wedding night of any maiden in the land, Belle felt…jealous.

“Say it,” he commanded.

Belle blew out a frustrated breath. “If you wanted to ravish virgins…why didn’t you…am I not…?” She bit her lip, holding back words it made no sense to utter.

Something changed in his eyes. His shoulders shifted and he leaned forward, studying her. He swayed slightly, rhythmically. Belle was reminded of a serpent, mesmerizing its prey.

“So you are upset on their behalf…or yours?” His tone was somewhere between snide and gentle.

“This is not about me. It’s about lands full of terrified young girls! Are they _all_ fair game for your cruel…barbaric…” Words failed her and she just glared at him, breathing hard. She felt flushed and her chest heaved.

He waited a long time before answering her, his eyes searching her face as if she was a particularly fascinating new species of insect. 

“Not always.”

“Well, _when_?”

“Sometimes. Got to keep them guessing, don’t I?”

“And that’s it? It’s just…random?”

“I didn’t say that.” His eyes widened dramatically, mocking her seriousness.

“Yahira is too young!” she blurted out.

“Precisely,” he answered curtly.

Belle’s blood ran cold, but she forced herself to go on, her voice tremulous now. “She said…Mrs. Parishter said you keep the younger ones sometimes…is that…is that what you…prefer?” 

She could barely choke the words out. Her only consolation was that Rumpelstiltskin’s mask slipped and his expression suddenly matched the cold horror she felt in her chest.

“What? _No._ Belle…no. Believe me.”

She breathed out. “I do.” She nodded to herself, swallowing before lifting her chin and feeling some of her anger fade when she registered his expression. He looked flustered now, but his composure was starting to return when he saw that she did indeed believe him.

Belle’s stomach curled into a tight knot. If he didn’t consider her too old to be…of use, then she had no further barrier to her next move. Except her own fear, and that had never held her back before; she wasn’t about to let it start now. She closed her eyes and saw Yahira’s wan face in her mind’s eye. Opening her eyes again, Belle stared at Rumpelstiltskin fixedly.

“Take me there.”

He shifted his weight lithely on his toes, almost as if in his mind he was dancing around her. The repeated, disorienting mercurial changes in his demeanor left Belle slightly dizzy. The walls of the alcove were suddenly too close.

“And to where would my lady like to be taken?”

His amused tone and choice of label conveyed that he thought her haughty demands to be above her station, but Belle knew that (as he did more and more these days) he would allow it.

“To wherever you take them. The brides. The ones you keep.” Her mouth closed with a snap as her voice failed her; she didn’t want him to notice that she had ran out of breath. Indeed it felt as if the entire room had been emptied of air. Determined to hold his gaze, Belle glared at Rumpelstiltskin until it began to seem as if his face was at the end of a tunnel.

“Breathe, my girl.” He spoke mildly, but his eyes showed genuine concern as he touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek in an unexpectedly tender gesture.

It worked to break her from the consuming panic. This was just Rumple, he would never hurt her…would he? She almost leaned into his touch.

Taking her by the hand, and tossing one last glance over his shoulder at the fretting bride and groom, Rumpelstiltskin led her up the winding staircase in what Belle had come to think of as _her_ tower. Belle’s stomach sank to realize where he had housed these girls had to be near the wing of opulent bedchambers he had given her.


	3. Chapter 3

When he had moved Belle from the dungeon she had been so grateful—not that she had let him have anything other than a quiet single word of thanks. She had loved her new rooms, high in the west tower, so full of light by day, with a warm fire keeping away the chill in the night. She especially loved her huge four poster bed, ornately carved from a rich dark wood, hung all about with curtains that made her feel protected and pampered…and best of all, the lock on her bedroom door was on the _inside_ —hers to control.

But now…if this was the tower in which he housed all the frightened young brides…was she anything more to him than just another weepy maid, torn from all she had ever known, locked up in his castle for him to…? To do what? Pour his tea, fetch his straw and bungle the dusting? She had never been subject to any untoward treatment at his hands. If anything, his taking her away from her home had brought a welcome respite from Gaston’s eager attentions. 

Gaston hadn't been a brute, but he was raised a prince, he was used to taking what he wanted. Their marriage had been imminent, waiting only for her coming of age day, because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could successfully refuse his wandering hands and possessive grip when he cornered her to steal a kiss. It wouldn’t do for him to anticipate his wedding vows so much that he brought shame to her and her family.

No, Belle didn’t miss her fiancé. Remembering his unwanted attentions was only further adding to the sinking sensation in her stomach, so she pushed such thoughts from her mind. Nonetheless, her nerves had got the better of her and her feet slowed to a stop before Rumpelstiltskin could lead her as far as one of the bedchambers. Somehow Belle believed the frightening idea that was growing in her mind would be easier to contemplate if she could do so _before_ being faced with the actual beds to which her master had taken these young brides.

So she stopped Rumpelstiltskin on a landing, pausing in a pool of sunlight from the long thin window she had only recently uncovered from behind yet more thick curtains.

“The deal you made with my father…” she began, and then stopped again, finding it difficult to speak. Her idea was bad enough…but what if she was wrong? What if he simply hadn't bedded her because she was not…whatever it was that he wanted? What if he saw something in some of the frightened young women that attracted him in a way she herself did not?

But she was getting ahead of herself. Roanne had said he often just released the brides.

“Yahira. You will let her go?”

He inclined his head. “I will. In time.”

 _“Time?!”_ She gaped at him.

“An hour. A day. A season. Its all time.” He snickered.

Belle fumed, he was toying with her. He rubbed his hands together, tilting his head as he regarded her, a mischievous smile playing about his lips. 

Belle tossed her hair over her shoulder and straightened her shoulders, she would show him she was not to be teased. “Let her go. Right now. Let her go to be with her groom, to be married, to go to her marriage bed untouched.” 

His thin, reedy giggle was more pronounced now. Belle had the urge to wipe that smile right off his face when his next words caused a coldness to creep up her spine.

“With all the best will in the world, that is not going to happen, my dear Belle. Not for this bride.”

He kept talking, as cavalier as before, but Belle was frozen in place, her mind spinning. How naïve had she been to think she could influence _him,_ the dark one? Of course he would do exactly as he pleased with the terrified girl awaiting him downstairs. 

Well, Belle had one more trick up her sleeve, one more chance to save Yahira.

She took a breath and gathered her courage. “You made a deal—for me.”

“The deal I made with your father?” Rumpelstiltskin repeated her words from earlier, trailing off and looking at her curiously. He wasn’t trying to hurry her at all, he just tilted his head again and steepled his fingers in the air in front of him, regarding her over his restless fingertips like she was an enigma—one he would happily spend the entire day trying to unravel with no thought for the turmoil of the villagers below. 

Or maybe it was simply that the longer he tarried with the bride inside his castle, the more tumultuous the emotions of his people, and the more he thought he could rule them with fear.

“You said you weren’t looking for love…” She swallowed, her mouth had gone dry. “It was for a housekeeper. You specifically denied looking for…anything else.”

He chuckled. “That’s one interpretation…do go on…you have my full attention.” He clapped his hands together as if this was all some kind of game. Belle’s stomach lurched.

“Is that why…if the terms of that deal have bound you from…” Belle’s arms moved around her body of their own accord and she clutched at her elbows. Her voice faded, an unexpected heat rising in her cheeks.

Rumpelstiltskin giggled again, even higher pitched than before, and Belle suspected he was not as comfortable with this discourse as he would like her to believe.

“Does the maiden blush to speak of such things? Out with it, girl. You weren’t so coy with your words when you negotiated yourself for the safety of your lands now, were you?”

It was true. She had enough presence of mind even back then to be clear and forthright, and he had honored that.

“If our original deal kept you from…from having me take care of _all_ of your…estate, then I propose a new deal.”

He gave a delighted squeal. “Which is?”

She glared at him. Did he really feign innocence of that which she spoke of…or didn’t wish to speak of directly—it was clear he was enjoying this, from the bounce in his step as he pranced around her on the landing and the gleam of mischief in his eye.

“I am of age,” she said stiffly. “I wasn’t—not quite—when you brought me here. But I am now.” 

She hesitated, a chill running through her—that she had had her birthday was not something she had wanted Rumpelstiltskin to find out. If she were still in her father’s lands she would have been married already. A part of her worried that Rumpelstiltskin might have only been such a gentleman around her because he was waiting for the same day that Gaston was. But that was beside the point now…or if he only took girls to his bed after they had come of age then it _was_ the point. 

“I know. What does that have to do with anything?” Yet he didn’t look as if her statement puzzled him.

“You know?”

He nodded. 

_Oh_. Belle stared at him, trying to muster up every last ounce of courage she possessed. She stumbled backwards a step. “You could…if it would mean you would spare Yahira, you could take me?”

He blinked, going still, so still. “Belle, you cannot mean to…what are you saying?”

“I-I propose a new deal. Take me to your bed and not Yahira. Not any frightened bride-to-be. Stop this barbaric practice and I will go…with you…as willingly as I came here to be your…maid.”

“Ah ah ah ah.” His laughter tinkled, making Belle’s stomach sink further. It was false, she was sure of it, his pleasure at her discomfort was entirely forced, his eyes flitting nervously about her person, but she was nonetheless undone. She had seen this demeanor upon him before and she knew what it meant: he had the upper hand in the deal making.

“Whatever you want from her, I can provide.” She blushed suddenly, dropping her eyes to the floor. “Or I can learn. Please…just…I know she’s of age, but please, she’s so scared, she’s not ready.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“And you are?” His voice sounded strangled.

She shook her head before she could stop herself. “It hardly matters, does it? I would—” _be willing_ —could she say that? The irony was it had probably been true, up until this had happened. “I wouldn’t resist. Anything you want. Just don’t hurt her, please.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, his eyes wide with genuine surprise now instead of his usual pretense. Had he really not known what she would offer? Or was he just shocked that she had gone through with it? He blinked a few times. Then his stillness broke and he resumed his pacing and fidgeting. 

His frenetic steps took him in and out of the patch of sunlight cast by the long, thin window cut out of the castle wall. His voice, when he spoke, was by contrast, completely controlled. Belle had learned that a mismatch between his demeanor and his voice indicated tension at the very least, and that he was dissembling, hiding his true feelings. 

“Well, now, my dearest little _maid_ …let me first clarify the terms of our original deal that you would so deftly renegotiate: you are both maid—and _maiden_ , at my pleasure. There is no clause in our deal that keeps me from taking you to my bed. I don’t bind myself blindly.”

Belle dropped her head, trembling all over. She took another step back, coming up against the cold masonry behind her. This meant…she had been wrong. Her theory had been nothing more than a convenient lie she had concocted those long cold nights in the dungeon, clasping her knees to her chest, reassuring herself she wasn’t about to be taken betwixt her master’s sheets to serve him there too.

And she hadn't been. He hadn’t wanted her for that. She had been relieved at the time, when nights passed and he made no such demands. But now…when she had embraced him in Sherwood Forest nothing had ever felt so right in her life. Ever since then, every time she risked touching him she gained more than a piano or a bushel of wildflowers—she gained more and more certainty that this was where she _belonged_. 

“Belle?” Now he seemed unbalanced, uncertain, the façade of mockery falling away.

She hid her face from him, behind her hands, trying desperately not to let the tears fall. “You don’t want me.”

“Well let’s not get hasty. Whyever do you think that?” He took a step towards her, but then hesitated, and returned to pacing.

“Because you bring these girls here, you disgrace them, but not me.”

His pacing slowed to a stop and he reached for her then.

“Belle…” 

Had his voice ever been so gentle? She ripped out of his careful hands before they could fully close over her arms and resumed walking, marching ahead of him up the staircase. 

“Belle.”

“You were going to show me where you took them.” She may as well complete the journey now—if he wasn’t going to bed her, it mattered not if they had this conversation in the bedchambers or otherwise. Plus, she just didn’t want him to see her cry. She hurried up the winding staircase, keeping ahead of him as she sniffed haughtily and dried her eyes.

She rushed past her own chambers, going higher and higher into the tower. She gasped for breath, the walls seeming to close in around her. Belle was not sure if it was much darker up here or if perhaps she was running out of oxygen, everything was a blur. She hated herself for being so upset that Rumpelstiltskin didn’t want her. She stumbled, crying out when she felt strong hands catch her about the waist.

“Careful, the stairs…they’re uneven…designed to trip up intruders not familiar with the castle. Are you injured?”

Belle blinked away more tears—his voice, it was so achingly tender, his hands about her body were so gentle—respectful. He held her with such hidden strength, only easing his grip when she was deposited securely on a stair. 

“You have your balance?” he asked softly. She nodded. Slowly, he removed his hands from her, brushing her hair back from her eyes with so much care she felt fresh tears well up. She didn’t notice the cold of the stone seeping up through her skirts until he withdrew his touch completely.

And yet all this time had she mistaken his gentlemanliness for growing affection? She had wanted so desperately to believe he felt the same way for her as she had come to feel for him. Stupid. So stupid. She was just a girl, just another whiny, weepy maid. 

Choking on a sob, Belle wrenched away from him again. Finding her feet, albeit unsteadily, she ran blindly through the nearest door—the faintest sliver of daylight calling her from cracks in the heavy, dark wood.

She stopped suddenly, almost running into a balustrade, blinking furiously against the harsh daylight, taking in big gulps of fresh air. She was on a small balcony, carved out along the ramparts to give a breathtaking view of the fields and hamlets below.

The sun was bright, but the wind whipped harshly, chilling her quickly. Belle wrapped her arms around herself, grateful for the cold, like a splash of cold water on her frayed nerves.

Rumpelstiltskin stood in the doorway, watching Belle with a worried frown. Her hair was tossed by the wind, and despite her tear streaked cheeks, he thought she had never looked so beautiful. She belonged out here, in the sunlight, not locked up inside with him. His heart jumped in his chest as she edged closer to the ramparts. He sucked in a breath, schooling his voice to reveal nothing of his emotions.

“I hope you aren’t thinking of doing anything foolish, child. It’s a long way down, the fall will surely kill you…or is that fate preferable to bedding the beast?”

Her eyes flashed at him—so much fire in such a small package. “You don’t want me. You refused my deal.” She lifted her chin, pride and hurt warring in her face. 

Rumpelstiltskin sighed at himself. He should not have corrected her misapprehension—it would surely have been better to let her believe the terms of their deal provided the reason why she had remained unmolested, but he couldn’t abide her thinking of him as the kind of beast who had only not ravaged her against her will because the terms of a deal proscribed it.

To his great relief, she moved away from the edge, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Rumpelstiltskin silently bid the wind to bend around the ramparts until all they felt was a gentle breeze. He couldn’t command the elements for long, but he could shield her for now. All he wanted to do was keep her safe. He smiled to himself in relief when her shivering calmed and she didn’t clutch her arms around herself quite so tightly.

“No, Belle, I refused nothing. I merely pointed out the terms of our first deal did not preclude me from…well…”

Rumpelstiltskin paused, considering. He had no words for the emotions roiling inside him. Somehow, of all the unresolved issues going on between them, that which was hardest to bear was her notion that he somehow didn’t _desire_ her. He could not let that stand, even if it meant she beheld him as a beast of the vilest nature.

It mattered not what she thought of him. What mattered was that he disabuse her of the preposterous idea that she was…unwanted. She was still looking at him, color high in her cheeks—whether from the wind or the unnerving conversation topic, he could not tell. He held out his hand.

“There is still a terrified young girl downstairs, you know. Let us not dilly dally. I accept.”

Her mouth opened in a soundless _oh_. “Um…what?”

He feigned an impatient sigh and waggled his fingers to indicate the hand he still held out to her. She declined it, which stabbed at his heart more than he would care to admit. Should he simply end this now and tell her the truth? No. Not with villagers in his castle. He had seen Belle’s compassion; it overwhelmed the girl’s good sense. If he wished to keep his people terrified of him then he would have to keep Belle in that same place, before she tripped over herself reassuring the Parishters with the ridiculous notion she had been repeating ever since he had spared the life of a common thief in the forest: that he was not a monster.

If only she knew.

No. It was time to correct her misprision. Fear was the one sure way to govern a people, be it hamlets and villages, or one scared maiden.

“You offered yourself in exchange for the girl…what was her name? Jahaira?”

“Yahira.”

They both knew he knew the girl’s name of course, but it gave Belle some measure of control to correct him.

“And no, that’s not what I offered.” Her voice, both tremulous and defiant, melted his resolve for a moment. “The deal is…me in exchange for you ever doing this to any girl ever again.”

He pretended to consider. “Willingly? At my every whim?” He let his eyes widen as they surveyed her body, slowly. Any guilt he felt at her resultant shiver was easy to shrug off. After all, he’d had years of practice. What mattered most to him, for reasons he cared not to explore right then, was that Belle not believe he didn’t want her.

Belle bit her lip but then nodded firmly. He quietly marveled at her. Was there was no end to the suffering this foolish young woman would put herself though?

She drew herself up, wiping away the last of her tears with a trembling hand. He should end this now, put her out of her frights, and reassure her his intentions were not what she thought. But Rumpelstiltskin hesitated. Never in a hundred years would he have thought a girl would offer herself to him willingly—especially not when he was like this, a monstrosity, his appearance a true reflection of his blackened soul.

“Very well then. It’s a deal.” He added a perfunctory giggle for effect, but a strong gust of wind snatched it away as he let go his control of the environment momentarily. Rumpelstiltskin doubted Belle would have heard anyway—she was as white as a sheet.

“So she can leave? And get married?”

“Yes. Indeed.” That look in her eyes—was she thinking of her own groom? 

“And you accept me in place of all future brides?” She was shivering again, the cold wind whipping her skirts.

“Yes. Now that you are of age.” He harrumphed too quietly for her to catch. Did she really think he had not marked the passing of her naming day? He had restored the piano from the Angel of Music himself just for her; it was worth more than her father’s castle. So maybe he had lost her nerve and hadn't wished her a happy birthday, had she really not known?

Her eyes were wide, but when she reached for his hand to shake it, her grip was firm. “Then it’s a deal.”

He kept her hand in his a moment too long, pulling her close. “We must still go through this charade, my dear. They must still be brought before me. You will see why soon enough—I won’t have brides pressed into marriages against their will in my lands.”

She stared at him, not withdrawing her hand. She was chilled, but the light was still in her eyes, a hopefulness he had never managed to extinguish no matter how harshly he treated her.

She nodded her assent, and he released her finally. She flounced away from him immediately, taking off down the staircase.

He followed at a distance as Belle practically flew back to the Parishters’ side. The huddle of terrified villagers murmured quietly. Yahira’s trembling hands had shredded the sweetbread into a pile of crumbs.

He dismissed Belle to the kitchen with a curt order to prepare a basket of food for the ‘happy family’. They were too skinny for his liking, the influenza that had swept his lands since before harvest time had been the worst he had ever seen. Then he settled down for a talk with a certain terrified, and furious, but good-hearted, young groom about the dire consequences for men in Rumpelstiltskin’s lands who failed to be good husbands.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle stood at the window in the great room watching the wedding party until they disappeared from view down the long winding road that led back to their town.

Her heart thudded in her chest now that they were alone again. While she had Mrs. Parishter to comfort, or food baskets to prepare (Rumpelstiltskin had only raised an eyebrow when she gave away more than half their provisions to the family) Belle had found it easier to distract herself from the predicament she was now in.

She could feel her master’s eyes on her, watching her stare out the window. Would he want her now? Weren’t such activities usually confined to bedtime? The afternoon sun was still strong where she held back the drapes. She hoped one day he would let her open these dreadful old curtains properly.

Finally, he spun on his heel and was about to head back up to his tower. Stuck in momentary indecision, hearing his footsteps walk away from her, Belle surprised herself by turning to face him.

“Wait.” 

He turned slowly, facing her. His eyes were inscrutable. Should she have let him just leave? Belle was uneasy at the tension between them, she would rather face it head on than fret away the rest of the day waiting for nightfall.

“Something still troubles you, sweet Belle?”

She frowned. Was he mocking her again? His voice was singsong, but his eyes looked more pensive than anything else. He crossed the floor toward her, eying her as if he was wondering if she would bolt. When she didn’t move, even when he came very close indeed, he held out his hand to her.

Belle stared at it. She couldn’t refuse him, not now. He had honored his end of a deal he need not have made. He could have bedded her long before today, had he chosen to do so. He didn’t need to make this deal to revoke his right to _prima nocta_ , but he had. Because she had asked him to. There was no doubt in her mind that he had done this for her. Was it that important to him that she come willingly to his bed? And had he really needed to deal for that either? _No._ She knew the answer even if she would never admit it aloud.

So she slipped her hand into his, surprised to sense a tremble there. She didn’t know if it was him or her—or both.

Holding her hand in his, Rumpelstiltskin walked them away from the door. For a moment she thought he might lead her to the bottom of the staircase again. Adrenalin flooded her body, making her legs go rubbery and her heart race. 

Relief surged through her when instead he led her back into the great room, stoking the fire with a mere flick of his free hand before walking her over to the table and leaning back against the edge of it. Slowly he raised her hand to his chest and wrapped it in both of his, watching her eyes. Belle couldn’t tell if the heat in her body came from the fire, or his unusual nearness. 

His fingertips stroked her palm. “Unburden your heart, my dear girl.”

Belle’s eye’s widened. He was making fun of her…he had to be…and yet… Her mind cast about for a relatively safe thought to voice.

“The groom…he’s so…he’d not be a brute to her?”

His eyes darkened and he drew her closer. “No. Not this one. He’s young, impetuous, but he’s deeply in love. They have a happy future together, if a rocky start.”

“You can see these things?”

He tossed his hair out of his eyes. “Sometimes.”

“She doesn’t want a way out?”

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. “And now you tell me, little Belle, will her family take care of her, is she loved?”

She frowned at him, hating the “little Belle” moniker. He only trotted that one out when he wished to tease her for her naïveté. But there was only warmth in his eyes, no malice. He was still waiting, and Belle realized that he genuinely wanted her opinion. Was that why she and Roanne had been banished to the kitchens?

“She is loved. Her family will take care of her, even if her groom is not up to the task.”

“Well then.” Rumpelstiltskin rose from his perch at the end of the table. “Shall we?”

He held his other hand out to her and Belle slipped her fingers into his palm, her stomach plummeting. The tremble was now undeniably hers. He drew her in the direction of the stairway, but Belle’s steps faltered. 

“I…I just…” She swallowed. _Willingly,_ she reminded herself sternly. What if he changed his mind? If her reluctance was too obvious she would be breaking their contract. Could he just magic Yahira right back here?

She winced when he brought his hand to her cheek, cupping her face briefly, then releasing her. Something shifted behind his eyes when he registered her reaction to his touch. 

“Perhaps we should take tea, soon, yes? The day draws on. I have some more work to do, I will be down when you have prepared the evening meal.”

She blinked. She had been so certain he was about to take her to bed. Now he was backing up, fidgeting, then once he caught her gaze, he twirled sharply around and disappeared up into his own tower.

Belle stumbled backwards slightly. A reprieve. And no castigation for her hesitation. She sighed, touching a hand to her head. It boded well, she told herself, heading back to the fireside and crumpling down on the rug in front of it. She stared at the flames. Their heat banished the chill from her bones that had lingered from her time on the balcony in that freezing wind. She tried to rationalize away a different kind of chill at the same time—one that had been present just as long, a trepidation seeping into her when Rumpelstiltskin accepted her deal: her body for the freedom of goodness knows how many more terrified young brides like Yahira.

She wrapped her arms around her knees. It was a good deal. But she had only just begun to come to terms with her life here, and to accept that it didn’t involve any…untoward male attention. And to feel her own freedom at being taken away from a marriage she had never wanted. She closed her eyes and remembered the whispered advice of her many handmaids, the gossip of her friends, the-no nonsense edicts from her matronly governess, all regarding her approaching wedding night with Gaston.

She could do this. She was nonetheless immensely grateful for Rumpelstiltskin giving her some time to come to terms with it. She would prepare his meal, clean up afterwards (a quick task, as he magicked away dishes and pots back to their clean state with nary a word; truth be told, she didn’t have much work to do here anyway) and then…well, usually she would sit by the fire with a book, reading while he spun. Would they do that tonight? She didn’t think she could relax. Perhaps he would take her straight away after dinner. Or maybe not for days. What was it he had said about taking some brides and not others? _”Got to keep them on their toes now, don’t I?”_ Would it simply be when the fancy took him?

She glanced back at the entranceway to the tower where he worked. She should bathe, she decided. Let him be upset if dinner was a little late. Granted, she had washed that morning, but she knew she would feel better about everything if she was as prepared as she could be. She had none of the folk remedies for pain to hand that her governess had promised to have ready for her on her wedding night, but surely he would be gentle with her? She almost laughed at that as she got to her feet, more ready now to meet her fate. If anyone could hear her imaginings that the dark one would be gentle with his maid…well…they would surely think her naïve. But Belle believed it; his every touch to her body was so careful, so respectful, it was almost reverent. She recalled the flash of sorrow in his eyes when she had flinched from his gentle hand. He wouldn’t hurt her, or at least not more than the act required.

She started the meal, then slipped away to soak in her bath, feeling much more herself, confident and brave. She could go through with this, and _willingly_.

 

~~~

 

He couldn’t go through with this. Oh Belle had been extra cheerful when he showed up for dinner, all smiles and being so solicitous as she served him, a curtain still drawn back just enough to bathe them both in the beginnings of the sunset over the distant mountains. But Rumpelstiltskin didn’t miss the twinge of fear in her eyes when he had first appeared, or how she stiffened if he ventured too close. The tremble in her hands as she ladled the soup reminded him of the day she had dropped the teacup, and he hated himself for instilling such fear in her all over again.

Yes, yes, that had been the point, after all—to control this flighty young girl before she jeopardize his tight reign over the peasants—but he could not endure having her so jumpy around him, or that reproachful look in her eye instead of the twinkle he had grown to love. He had thought he would be happy to have her terrified from thinking of him being with young brides against their will, but Rumpelstiltskin found he could no longer stomach even the very idea.

He put down his spoon. The meal had been delicious, but neither of them had eaten very much.

“Come.” He stood up abruptly.

“Where?”

He just looked at her.

“Oh.” She got to her feet a little unsteadily. Was it his imagination or had she drank more wine than usual that night? Well, he could hardly blame her.

“I’m not…I should…bathe.” She cringed. “And what about the dishes?”

He blinked. She was stalling. Her hair around the nape of her neck had curled into those tight little ringlets she got when she had just freshly bathed, and he realized she had washed herself just that evening…in preparation for him. She really was going to do what she thought he wanted of her. (Well, she wasn’t wrong, he did want her, more than he cared to admit even to himself—but not like _this_.)

“Doesn’t matter. Come.” His words brooked no further delay and with a wave of his hand the dishes disappeared. She moved slowly to his side, flinching when he placed a hand at the small of her back. Ignoring her reaction, Rumpelstiltskin kept his hand there. He wasn’t going to risk her nearly tumbling down the stairs again if she got light headed.

He kept a brisk pace all the way to her chambers, but as they approached, her steps faltered. She clutched a hand to her middle when he led her into her bedroom, closing the door behind them. He sealed it with a twitch of his fingertips, not wanting her to run off on him again, then stepped away from her.

Belle whirled on him, as pale as a sheet. She pressed her hand tighter to her stomach as if to keep it from doing somersaults.

“Why are we here…is _this_ the room you brought them all to? But…this is _my_ room!” she sputtered.

“Indeed.”

“How…how many girls from your villages lost their innocence in the bed you gave me? Is this some kind of sick joke?” Her eyes flashed angrily, Rumpelstiltskin breathed a quiet sigh of relief; an angry Belle was easier to deal with than a scared Belle. 

He put his hand on her arm. “Not a single one.”

His other hand came up to palm her cheek, turning her face up to his. His touch was gentle, but firm; she breathed heavily, but didn’t try to evade him.

“Not in this bed, not in this room, not in any bed or any room. And not a single word of that will be repeated outside this room, Belle. Do you understand me?” Risking further exploration, he let his hand slide into her soft hair that tumbled in chestnut waves down her back.

Silenced by Rumpelstiltskin’s solemn demeanor, Belle could only nod. Still she didn’t move away from his touch. He played with her hair, breathing her in, watching how the dying rays of the sunset illuminated her chestnut locks like firelight. 

Intrigued by her lack of protest, and more than a little intoxicated by her nearness, here in her bedroom—a place he had never once violated before now—where everything smelled so divinely of her, Rumpelstiltskin let his fingertips trace along her beautifully soft skin. She shivered then, and he stopped immediately, noting to himself even as he withdrew his hand that her pupils had dilated.

“Belle, you would do this…offer yourself to a monster, to take you against your will, all to save one simple village girl from the same fate?” He stared at her in something like wonder.

“I told you— _all_ the future brides.”

He smiled, loving her perceptiveness. She was sharp, his Belle, sharp and bright and the focus of his whole world right then. Knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to resist, Rumpelstiltskin reached for her again, slowly skimming his hands up her bare arms. She shivered again, perhaps chilled as the sun slipped further beyond the horizon. 

Leaving her for a moment, feeling a wrench of sweet agony to lift his hands from her skin, Rumpelstiltskin went to the tall picture windows where he drew the heavy curtains closed and lit the oil lamps with a click of his fingers.

“And if I told you the deal would only be to rescue Yahira?” A fire roared into life in her fireplace, illuminating her hair almost angelically from behind. He waited for Belle to point out that whether it was one farm girl or one hundred, the point was moot if he had never stolen the maidenhood of any of them.

She swallowed. “Her or me?”

He nodded and returned to her side. 

Belle squeezed her eyes closed. “I would still do it.”

“Then again I ask, why would you do such a thing, let a monster use you, for one slip of a girl?”

She sniffled and opened her eyes. “You aren’t a monster.” 

To his amazement, she sounded just as certain as the last time she had uttered those words. And then, to his complete and utter astonishment, _she_ reached for _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO grateful to you guys for reading this, and sticking with me this far!


	5. Chapter 5

Befuddled now, Rumpelstiltskin held perfectly still as Belle took his hands, then ran her fingers up his arms much as he had just done, only she went further, settling her palms across the front of his leather waistcoat. A shy, hopeful light shone in her eyes and some of the color had come back to her cheeks.

“All you were doing is ensuring these girls are not being sold off, as they frequently are, as chattel, or otherwise coerced?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The warmth from her hands on his chest had him hypnotized. 

Rumpelstiltskin had meant to push the point home, really make her face the frightful beast she purported to be willing to bed, here in an intimate setting, only to release her from her dreadful promise once she had proved herself unequal to the task of bedding a monster more grotesque than such a lovely young woman could stomach.

But once again, Belle had proved herself more than his equal. She stared up at him, her huge blue eyes mesmerizing. 

Tugging on his hand, drawing him closer, Belle sat down in front of the fire, drawing him down beside her before he could process what was happening. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, “why would you even care?” Her delicate fingers played with the soft pile of the rug, worrying the fibers, before she shuffled closer to him. Rumpelstiltskin found he was now the one who was breathing heavily.

“Because of B-a boy,” he replied after a long pause.

She looked up at him, expectant, hopeful. Suddenly he was talking, telling her of things he had never expected to share with anyone.

“This boy had a thing for this young filly, they grew up together. People were always saying they would marry one day.”

She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed encouragingly. Rumpelstiltskin’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“When he was g-gone, they married her off for… for cattle.” Anger raged in him at the memory. “So I invoked prima nocta. I had to set myself up in a castle. Took some doing: Three potions and a whole twenty minutes of chanting, if I recall correctly. I rescued her. Ever since then they were made to expect to deliver all their brides to me. Annulling marriage vows can be a lengthy and tiresome process, I discovered, even when they have never been consummated. So I made them come before that part.”

“You saved them.” Her fingers trailed over his hand, back and forth. She looked as rapt by his words as he was by her beauty.

“I free the girls after the danger has past—well, I offer to turn the offending groom into a praying mantis, but if that is not the girl’s wishes, or if the situation is otherwise such that it would be unwise for them to return, then I give them a position as a maid.”

There was a silence. Belle was chewing on her lip. “Well then, why did you need me?”

He waved his hand dismissively, his eyes wandering away from hers. “I think the serfs slowly realized my terms, so the girls forced into cruel or unsavory arrangements are fewer and fewer these days. Besides, they come and go. Seems once they finally get over all that tiresome weeping from missing their families, they are on their way. You, on the other hand, are bound to me.”

The same words that had previously struck dread in her heart now warmed Belle inside. With the clarity of facing the possibility she would be dismissed if Rumpelstiltskin took on Yahira instead, Belle realized for the first time that she had come to jealously guard his promise (well, threat) _“it’s forever, dearie.”_

Hesitantly, she moved her hand from his to tangle instead in the soft curls at the back of his neck. She didn’t know why she felt compelled to touch him, just that she did, and that it felt amazing to do so. Now that she knew the truth she felt silly for ever doubting him. Why would she have thought him a lecherous beast when he had been nothing but a perfect gentleman with her? 

Her thoughts confused her, and she was suddenly unnerved by his eyes—how they seemed to see straight through her and into her heart, which traitorously would spill all her secrets if she didn’t shift tracks. So she let her mind flit back to a seemingly inconsequential detail. 

“A praying mantis?”

“So they would be forever postulate, begging the bride’s forgiveness.”

His lips quirked then and Belle’s did too. She couldn’t help it—she liked his sense of humor, and how it could be surprisingly entwined with his deeply hidden desire for justice in the world.

“And if Yahira had elected to stay here?”

He shrugged. “You could use a companion, a helper, no?”

Belle tilted her head as she considered this, surprised to find that not only did she not want to be usurped, she didn’t even want anyone to intrude on her time with her master—much less have to vie for his attentions with such a delicate and pretty little chit as Yahira.

He watched her closely, as if gauging her reaction to no longer being alone with him. Then he shrugged. “It’s of no matter.”

She blinked. “What?” Then it dawned on her. “You were never going to keep Yahira, were you?”

“No.”

“Then why…” She blew out a frustrated breath and dropped her hands back to her lap. “Why all this? Why did you torture those poor people?”

“Sometimes the thing you imagine is worse than any reality.” Hesitantly, he reached for her hand again, drawing her even closer now. “A few hours pondering their master’s cruel intentions won't do any lasting harm. I cultivate the obeisance of the serfdom, my dear.”

“But you said…” Belle was riveted by how he held her hand, enveloped by both of his, lightly stroking her from fingertips to her wrist. Should she be resisting these strange intimate touches? She had initiated them, to be certain, but now he was continuing their contact, and so very gently. She knew if she withdrew from him now, he would not only let her go, she may never get him to open up again.

She cleared her throat slightly, fighting to remember what they were talking about. “Yahira. You said she wasn’t ready.”

“She’s not.” He turned her hand over within his and traced circles on her palm. A shiver of pleasure spread goosebumps all over Belle’s body. 

Rumpelstiltskin was still talking. “But as I said, it is of no matter. Around seven months from now she’ll be a mother; she’s not ready for that either.”

Belle gasped. “You mean already…she…with her groom?”

Rumpelstiltskin smirked and nodded, apparently enjoying her discomfort.

“He disgraced her?”

He shrugged. “She was a willing participant. It’s only a public disgrace if it can be proven, which it can't, not if they marry today.”

“A baby,” Belle breathed. It was hard to imagine, Yahira had been so slight. Rumpelstiltskin looked strangely pensive now, and she turned to follow his gaze as he stared into the fire. They sat like that in the quiet for several long minutes. It could have been awkward or uncomfortable, but Belle instead felt more relaxed than at any time since the Parishter family’s first arrival. This was different than their usual evenings together, busying themselves, her with her books, Rumple with his spinning. It was just the two of them, sitting so close, enjoying the warmth. Even with the fireplace, Belle’s room could be chilly in the evenings and she usually hurried through her ablutions to get under the heavy eiderdown. Tonight she didn’t feel cold at all—her master’s body all but enveloped hers, chasing away the nip in the air and filling her with an entirely different kind of shivery sensation.

She drew her lip in between her teeth and turned slightly to look at him again. Could he read where her mind was going? Did he know she welcomed his closeness quite a bit more than she should?

“Rumpelstiltskin?” 

His eyes snapped to hers, but he took quite a bit longer to answer, as if dragging his mind back from some darker, unhappy memory. Suddenly, it was all Belle wanted to do in the world to find a way to take his mind off the tragedies of his past.

“I want to ask you something.”

She had his full attention now. Playfully, he bowed, managing to make it look courtly even from his sitting position. 

“Sweet girl, is this the part where you spill your heart to me that you are secretly relieved you do not have to share my attentions with another pretty young filly?” He grinned, obviously proud of himself, but hopeful too.

Belle choose to ignore his cheeky smile, and his remark, hoping he couldn’t tell he had hit closer to home than he probably imagined. “The things you can see…could you see, uh, my future with Gaston?”

Some of the teasing left his eyes. “Does it matter? You need not fret over him, my dear.”

 _Fret?_ So he did know her waning success at fighting off her fiancé’s attentions? “Is that why you? But he would never have…”

“Nobility is neither defense nor cure for barbarism, Belle.”

She swallowed, fighting off an unexpected urge to bury herself in his arms. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t been _frightened_ of Gaston, at least…well, if she had, she had pushed those feelings down. She had handled him, she had had no other choice. 

She waited until she was sure her voice would be steady enough to speak again. “Is that why you…took me?”

He took a long time in answering. “I’ve seen so many young brides-to-be over the years,” he said softly. “You didn’t want what he had to offer you. Yet you were more irritated than afraid of him. You just wanted…more.”

Belle sucked in a breath and nodded, capturing her lip between her teeth once more. It seemed Rumpelstiltskin understood her better in just one meeting than her whole household at home.

He moved his hand, slowly, to brush a stray wavy lock of hair back from her shoulder, and his voice became quiet when he spoke next, a confession for which he didn’t quite meet her eyes. “But I can hold no noble cause for why I took you. I took you much as a magpie steals a ruby…your beauty shone and I stole you away, having no idea of your true value.”

Belle forgot to breathe for a moment. Had she ever heard him so unguarded? His tone and manner lacked all artifice, and she found herself quite…charmed.

“So it was a whim?”

“I…wanted it to appear so, I suppose. But I don’t walk blindly into deals with desperate men. I understood the extent of the ogre rampage, the threat they faced, and I was keenly aware your armies were hopelessly outnumbered. Along the way you caught my eye. I had been watching your father with his advisors—you, my dear, by far the most brilliant strategist among them.”

She blushed, ducking her head until a gentle finger caught her under the chin, and with great care, raised her face to his.

“But do not mistake me, girl.” He was struggling to distance himself. “For all that they are imagining right now, I have done far worse, in my time. He left for a reason. Many reasons. He was right to leave me. I am the brute…the beast…the monster. I am everything they fear, and so much more.”

 _Who had left him?_ she ached to ask, but every instinct screamed at her to hold her tongue. He was staring into the fire again, his hand had fallen away from her face. She had lost him again, to the darkness of the past.

Then just as unexpectedly, he was looking back at her. Firelight reflected in his eyes and Belle had a sudden wild (hope?) idea that he was going to kiss her. She leaned in without meaning to do so, watching his eyes widen, before catching herself and pulling back. The heat flamed in her cheeks now, and she looked down at her skirts, her fingers returning to nervously plucking the carpet pile.

“Um-I…”

“Belle?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, one that carried infinite tenderness. He wasn’t teasing her now, far from it. His eyes were impossibly dark.

“Uh…why did you bring me here – to have this conversation, I mean, why _here?_ ”

“Earlier you asked me to bring you to where I brought the brides. I obliged.”

The playful edge to his voice was back. He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching, inviting her spirited comeback.

“But these are _my_ bed chambers!” Did she sound petulant? 

“Are you really upset about the room? It’s the most well-appointed, getting the best sun, but not too high to be too chilled in the winter—nothing a good fire can’t vanquish anyway. And…well…” He trailed off, rubbed his hand self-consciously across his face. “As I could barely remember the girls’ names from day to day, at least I knew where I had put them if they were always in the same room!”

She had to smile at that, the chagrin in his voice underscoring the truth of his words.

“And if I left you, as they did?”

“I could not house another maid there, if that is your question. It’s Belle’s room. I made it yours in a way I never did before. Then you made it yours.”


	6. Chapter 6

A delighted smile broke out across Belle’s face, and Rumpelstiltskin returned it before she could hide it. He found himself absolutely entranced with the unexpected direction their evening had taken. 

There was just one more mistaken notion of which he had to disabuse her. He tentatively reached for her hand, smiling even more when she allowed him to help her up. He kept ahold of her as he walked her to her bed. He understood his own impulse—so many years without such intimacy and suddenly he found he couldn’t get enough of touching her—but what he could not fathom was why Belle was allowing it. 

He cleared his throat, his mouth had gone quite dry. “Did you really think your own bed had been another’s before you? I made this with you in mind. See?” 

Moving gently, full of joy that she was permitting him to guide her hands, he led her fingertips to trace the carvings in the burnished wood—the likeness of the song birds she had grown to love in the garden danced along the headboard with their delicate wings outstretched, their spindly feet hopping along a long stemmed single rose. Wildflowers wound around each of the four bedposts, which were carved in the fashion of the spines of ancient books.

“You see?”

She bit her lip and turned wide eyes up to his, nodding. They stared at each other for a moment. Rumpelstiltskin was almost giddy with relief that she was no longer looking at him with fear and reproach in her gaze.

And then, of course, he ruined it, quite without meaning to.

He didn’t know why he went on to turn down the bedclothes for her—it just seemed the natural thing to do at that juncture. But when he straightened to face her again they both seemed to realize in that moment what he had done, and Belle’s wide blue eyes halted him in his tracks. Her next words almost stopped his heart completely.

“Do you want me?”

Rumpelstiltskin stumbled back. Belle took a step towards him, shyness in her eyes but boldness in her step. 

“I…I-uh-Belle, I—”

This wasn’t going to plan at all. Somewhere, back before the fireplace, and the warmth of her body pressed against his creating all kinds of flames inside him, in places he long believed to have been as cold as ash for decades, foolhardy hope had dulled his good senses and his plan had derailed. 

He had meant to take her to her bed, and stop his advances the moment she spurned them. He meant only to unnerve her and demonstrate just how much of a monster he was. Then to regain the upper hand when her reticence belied her willingness to bed such a beast…but Belle had more nerve than he could apparently shake. 

Now here she was, eyes huge, but with curiosity more than fear he fancied, even when he had turned down the blankets and sheets.

His mouth opened and closed a few times. How to answer her? Of _course_ he wanted her—it was preposterous to pretend otherwise—but he had not meant to _actually_ seduce her, the very notion had seemed impossible right up until this moment. His heart thudded almost painfully in his chest.

“Yes,” he managed finally. “Yes, I…want you.” The chance that she would think herself unwanted disturbed him more than the risk that he would scare her again.

She swallowed. “We made a deal. You let Jahira go.”

“Indeed I did.” He moved one foot behind the other, trying to compensate for how off-balance Belle was making him feel. If she ever dabbled in fencing, she would be a natural.

“The brides that stayed here before…some went on to marry someone else?” Her gaze held him fast.

“Yes, for the most part. In time.”

“But not me.”

He cocked his head. Where was she going with this? “That is the deal you agreed to.” He had to stop himself from phrasing it as a question.

“I know. I will never…have the knowledge of what it is to…um…know a husband.”

He raised an eyebrow. Bemused at the possible implications of what she was saying, he found himself retreating to his usual flippancy. “If you can’t _say_ it, my dear, how do you expect to actually _do_ it? Hmmm?” His fingers spun the air, making imaginary cat’s cradles from the finest silk. One slip up and the delicate weave would disintegrate.

She narrowed her eyes at him momentarily, and Rumpelstiltskin experienced a twinge of guilt at resorting to his singsong teasing tone with her. He couldn’t help it; he was as uncomfortable as Belle with this conversation, even though _he_ was no stranger to a marriage bed. 

“I’m getting ready to turn in,” she announced, her hair bouncing as she turned on her heel and left him standing there. 

Rumpelstiltskin exhaled slowly, watching her disappear into her bathroom. His hands fell to his sides and he resisted the urge to slump onto the bed—or run from the room.

What was happening? Belle was frightened, certainly, but more brave than timid, and nowhere near as reluctant as she had seemed earlier that day. Yet he was a monster—a grotesque scaly imp of a man, not even a man. She couldn’t possibly…

Then she was back, an almost ethereal beauty in a long floating nightgown as she went around the room snuffing out the candles he had magicked into life at the same time he stoked the fire. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, she was barefoot and so diminutive, a delicate little thing, all curves and smelling so sweet as she drifted past him, close, too close…Rumpelstiltskin’s thoughts derailed once more.

He stared at her in wonder as she climbed into her bed, and then—unbelievably—scooted over to make room for him too, further turning down the sheets so there could be no question of her invitation.

“Take your rights.” She raised her chin, almost defiant.

If it wasn’t for the slight wobble of her bottom lip, Rumpelstiltskin could have believed she felt all the conviction she had put into her words. He so desperately wanted to believe himself welcome in her bed, but deep down he knew better—no lady would ever want _him._

“Mmmm…no. I think not. Not tonight.” His heart hammered in his chest, his quiet words betrayed by a tremor in his voice.

She sat up straighter in the bed and wrapped her arms around her knees, frowning at him. He had expected to see nothing in her expression but relief. This girl confounded him at every turn. 

“But-but the rights of a marital bed—they are yours to take!”

“Indeed you are.” He blinked slowly.

That gave her pause. She looked down at her hands. “I don’t understand, Rumpelstiltskin, don’t you want to?”

“We covered that. But do you?” he parleyed, fingers twitching nervously, threading an invisible spindle now. He still stood awkwardly at her bedside.

“That’s besides the point. We made a deal.” She delivered this statement like she was playing a winning card, ending the game.

“I have only broken one deal in my life," he growled, making her shiver. The darkness that came over him must have persuaded Belle that now was not the time to question him further, for she remained quiet and still, allowing him a moment to compose himself and bring lightness back to his demeanor.

“We made a deal you would come to me _willingly._ ” He seesawed his fingers back and forth mockingly as his body swayed to the same rhythm. When it came to making deals, he always won the game. “You see, my lovely one, I’m in a bind—for you can no more willingly seek a liaison you have been maneuvered into than I can take my rights when they cannot be truly willingly given.”

Belle stared at him. “You said you do not bind yourself blindly,” she countered, her brow furrowing again.

“And I do not. I have taken you to bed. Willingly and at my every whim.” It was his last refuge: the exact wording of a deal, and this one had been on his terms. His Belle was too much a blushing maid to spell out the explicit acts she would be expected to perform. So she was at his mercy, and he had never intended to disgrace her, only to frighten her.

She didn’t look frightened. Now she just looked…exasperated.

She blew out a breath of frustration that made the wisps of hair around her face dance in the firelight. She was so beautiful his heart hurt in a way he hadn’t felt in centuries, not since the last time he had heard the joyful laughter of his boy. 

Belle gathered her composure. “I willingly surrendered myself for Jahira. You want me, you have not denied it.”

He had done more than not deny it, he had confirmed his desire for her, but the rosy tint in her cheeks spoke of her hesitancy to acknowledge that. She was humble, even now.

“Rumple, y-you don’t believe I am willing?”

She sounded almost wounded. Rumpelstiltskin set his jaw and dropped his shoulders. He was bested. She had presented him with the one element of his deal he had counted on being an impossibility—to whatever limited degree she meant it, she was willing.

His chest tightened and his breath quickened as his eyes traveled over her. Unable to resist any longer, Rumpelstiltskin slowly unbuttoned his waistcoat, removed his boots, and paused in indecision for a moment before magicking himself into the most modest nightshift he could imagine.

He watched her the whole time. Belle’s mouth closed with a gulp. Her eyes went very wide and her body very still. 

When she offered no protest, he carefully joined her in the bed, making no sudden moves. Rumpelstiltskin mirrored her posture, sitting close to her, but not touching her. He could hear how rapidly she was breathing now.

“Belle, by coming here with me, leaving your family, your fiancé, your future…you gave up knowing the touch of a husband.”

His whisper was gentle, and appeared to work to help her to relax a little. She nodded, watching him with huge eyes. He slipped his legs under the sheets beside hers, but kept his hands folded on top of the eiderdown, mindful of how her eyes kept darting to them, wary of his next move.

So he made no move at all, he just lay back a little on the pillows and let her have the height advantage now.

“You long for adventures the like of which you read in your books?”

Another nod, and the barest hint of a smile now at the corner of her beautifully full lips. His voice seemed to soothe her, so Rumpelstiltskin kept talking, entranced by her beautiful blue eyes, so wide as she gazed down at him.

“Are you quite all right?” he ventured quietly.

She nodded, so he continued. 

“I will not press my advantage, and I…I will not disgrace you, but as long as you want to, as long as you are _willing,_ you may enjoy the touch of a man. I would be honored to offer you this much of an adventure, if you would accept me.”

She gasped almost soundlessly, her fingers tightening on the bedclothes.

“Don’t be alarmed, Belle. We can take this as slowly as you would like, or we can do nothing at all. I can leave you in peace, if you wish. Consider the deal fulfilled.”

There was a long silence. Belle stared at him, and swallowed. Her hands were still fidgeting in her lap.

“But I believe we both know this is not about a deal, Belle.” 

“Do you, um, d-do you mean to…” She trailed off and looked down at the quilt, worrying at the embroidered edging with her fingertips. She really did have a maiden’s difficulty speaking of such things, and Rumpelstiltskin was sorry for teasing her earlier for this very thing. He could only guess at her meaning, but judging by the blush in her cheeks, she was wondering how far he would take this.

“I would take you as my wife if you one day wished it, that way you could know all the pleasures of sharing your bed with a man, but I would not ask that of you while you remained under my protection in any other capacity; it would not be proper.”

That tentative smile reappeared on her face. He supposed it did sound mildly ridiculous, given all the things he took for his own, but even the Dark One had a code of honor. He took nothing from anyone but that which they agreed to trade in a deal (he could hardly be held to task if they had not the wit to understand what they offered, after all) and everything he did was in service to his quest for Bae. Taking a wife fell outside that purpose, and he would not compel his beloved Belle in this matter. 

It was of no matter anyway. In the end, she was high born and he was a peasant. She was beautiful and delicate whereas he was twisted up, outside and in. He was a crude commoner; it was a wonder she was allowing him in her bed at all.

“Are you quite afraid?” he whispered.

She shook her head no, but drew a quick breath when his hand moved toward hers. Interlacing their fingers, Rumpelstiltskin was not surprised to note she was trembling, but he kept going. Perhaps where his courage and his words failed him, his touch could succeed to show her how deep his feelings for her ran.


End file.
